


The Elleth Who Brought Him Things

by elvenwanderer



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvenwanderer/pseuds/elvenwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Fingon struggles with learning to be the High-King, he gradually takes notice of the extra work done by the elleth who brings him things. This is a one-shot for Ñolofinwëan week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elleth Who Brought Him Things

For the longest time, she was simply the faceless and nameless elleth that brought him things. It was her job, after all, to bring him those things when he was in his office or whenever he was doing anything official. She brought him parchment, brought him the letters from his brothers and brothers-in-arms across Beleriand, brought him food, tea and sometimes cakes with the tea.She took the things away, too, he knew. She removed the trays of (usually uneaten) food from his desk, took away the letters he wrote, made the reports and things he no longer cared to see disappear. What happened with them, he didn't know, but knew she always brought them back if he wanted them.

He didn't even know her name for months. He never thought anything of it. Of course, those first long months were the ones where he was at his busiest, the months where he was learning how to be King. Learning how to say no, learning how to be who he needed to be for everyone else (how did Father ever do this so gracefully?). He rarely left these chambers aside from official functions, and only occasionally to sleep, for nearly that entire period. The elleth never really spoke to him more than a few occasions to ask him to move his arm or a similar request to allow her to do her job and he never inquired anything of her outside of asking for the things she would then bring him without hesitation.

He happened to glance up one day, finding her just entering with his breakfast tray. She set it down on a small table to close the door and to make her obeisance to her King and continued on with her work. She removed the wine decanter and glass from that morning (well, late last night), and moved a few papers to make better room for the tray while he tried not to watch her. When she left, she made the same curtsy she had on her way in and shut the door behind her. For some reason he wondered if she always did that with the same efficiency and... elegance. Not giving her another thought, he continued about his business, delving back into reading boring and rather useless reports from around the realm. He munched on the fruit and scones, absently taking things from the tray as he tried to pay attention to the work at hand.

Nearly a month later, he noticed her again, though she had been there with a penchant for almost preceding his needs for things the entire time. She was removing his dinner tray when one of his admirals stormed into the room just as she was reaching for the door. The tray, and the remainder of its contents, went flying and the admiral barely glanced at the visibly distraught elleth, much less offered her an apology. The High-King's attention was drawn by the unusual noise and quickly took in the situation. Barely missing a beat, the elleth bent down to neatly pick up the contents of the tray, apologizing for the error in her work with an extra-deep bow. The officer then bowed before the King, who glowered back at him the entire time he stated his business. While the ellon was speaking, the elleth slipped out of the room and she was once again forgotten.

He ate the entirety of the breakfasts served to him the next week. In a moment of distraction, he realized that everything had been exactly served as he liked, and though he ate nearly the same thing for the past three breakfasts there was still variation in the meal. He thought nothing more of it after that, so reabsorbed in his paperwork, meetings and correspondence was he.

One day he was searching for a piece of parchment when she came in with his afternoon tea, a new tradition only a week or two old. She noticed his search, and after she set down the mug, she asked which scroll he desired. In the midst of overturning another stack of papers, he answered and she deftly pulled his query out of a different pile near his elbow that he had already searched through... twice. Having not noticed her presence there although he had responded to her, he looked at her with slight incredulity, as if truly noticing her for the first time. He thanked her and accepted the parchment, not questioning how she knew where it had been. She smiled broadly at the praise and he felt his heart stop as he looked with interest upon her small form. He stammered for a moment, having completely forgotten which document he had looked for and she blushed a bright red at his scrutiny. Then with a squeak, she curtsied and left. His gaze followed her, noting the quickness in her step and the small shake of her hand on the doorknob. She came in three-quarters of an hour later, and he handed her the tea mug rather than letting her pick it up off of his desk. She would not meet his eyes, but curtsied again as she accepted the item.

After she deposited his dinner one evening, he realized with no small surprise that his meal was made up of mainly his favorite foods, though they were mixed in with other more nutrient dense ones. He observed his dinner the next day, and the next, and came to the conclusion that the meals were often easy to eat with one hand and made no mess, requiring little by way of a lapse of concentration on his part as he continued to pour over documents.

He made an effort to look at all his meals after that, finding much the same theme to the dinners: all were foods he enjoyed that were also nutrient rich and presented in a relatively distraction-free manner. He had not ordered any change in his food, but found he appreciated these. The elleth who carried his trays in and out of the room daily must have noticed what he was and was not eating, and had the kitchens change what he was being sent. It could have been the cooks, he told himself, but found himself hoping it was the elleth.

Curious, and with that spark of hope simmering in his mind, he looked around the room, finding order where he was certain he himself had left only chaos. All these weeks, the elleth had been straightening his desk and the room while he was working, to the extent that she knew where most things were even though he was actively moving things as well.

He looked down around him at the papers on his desk, knowing that one of his greatest weaknesses had always been his poor organizational skills. To his surprise, the elleth had arranged the contents and the file-folios in a useful way that made perfect sense to him. He had not done it himself while unaware: the labels on the drawers and cabinets was in a feminine hand decidedly not his own. He thought he should have been offended (a maid was taking it upon herself to read into and reorganize his confidential correspondence), but he actually felt the direct opposite.

For most of the past months since his father had died, he had been a prisoner in his own office, a thrall to his commanders, generals, advisors and councilors. He had had little time to himself, and even then, people were asking things of him. Certainly, his needs were well met by his other servants, as they ever were, but this elleth had taken it upon herself to make his life easier though he rarely acknowledged her and to this point had been ignorant of her efforts. That realization affected him deeply, more deeply than it should have for simply being taken care of by his employee.

He continued to look around the room, searching for the changes he knew would have been made to it. There were pillows and blankets strategically arranged on the divans where he normally fell asleep during the few hours before dawn when he could not make it back to his own chambers. His father always was far more utilitarian and would not have had such things, and he certainly hadn't asked for them himself. There was a dual set of curtains in the room, ones that were heavier to block the sun of mornings when he slept here, and the second set was of a sheer, gauzy material for when he desired privacy during the day. These were all oddly caring gestures, made solely for his comfort, and yet he could not quite explain why he felt so touched by her efforts.

After that, he made a point to interact with her, to actually find out her name, and to thank her for what she was doing, though she deflected his comments and refused to accept praise. He made these attempts, as it were, over the next few weeks, garnering the courage to talk to her when she came to bring him meals or whatever scroll he had been searching for. Once he was comfortable in talking to her (had he truly thought of it, he would have considered it strange for a King to be intimidated of a servant), and in return she slowly grew comfortable in speaking to him, albeit most of her comments were short and only of things around her duties and his needs.

After a considerable effort, he managed to talk her into bringing her meals into the room as well. He used the argument that she spent so much time around him anyway and it would be no great imposition to either of their work, and they must both eat sometime. Her reluctance was broken when he mentioned the respite, however brief, would help him concentrate more fully during the rest of the day. This became a habit of theirs that he found he anticipated, to share meals with her whenever he was in the Palace and was not otherwise occupied with state functions.

They spoke of many things: family and friends (both still alive and not), favorite poets, their tastes in music and favorite pass-times. He told tales of his former home in Valinor and of his childhood with so many cousins, she of her family's ancestral farm in a small town near the River and of how she was the youngest child of five. They joked and laughed, and consoled and comforted one another when unfortunate situations arose. Occasionally during their conversations their eyes would meet and lock in a way that went beyond the pale. His heart would stop and she would blush and look away.

Unfortunately, their meals together occurred less and less often as he grew used to his role as High-King and could begin to handle the requirements with greater ease and therefore would be gone from his office for longer stretches.

He found he missed her when he was away.

He had valets and manservants to help him when he traveled, stewards and secretaries as well. Every time he was in the palace, however, they both went back to their routine of her being the servant and he being the King, she would still take all of her own meals with him. But he was now also the ellon who may (or may not) intentionally misplace things for her to find and give back to him. When he would take the misplaced things from her, he would most certainly never accidentally brush his hand against hers. He greatly enjoyed the blush on her face whenever that chanced to happen.

The more trips he made, to his great consternation, the more he noticed her reserve when he returned. Each time, she would wait until he opened up and spoke to her before she became more like the elleth he had come to esteem, his irritation at her unwanted (by him) shyness increasing with every occurrence. It took a few such occasions for him to determine her likely reason for this behavior and its implication pained him. At the end of the day, no matter how much time they spent together, he was her King and she was simply his servant. She could rationally have no claim on his time, and he knew her well enough to understand her thoughts on this matter. He tended to forget about his crown and yet she must be ever aware of it, lest her job lost and her reputation be ruined. She was being respectful, not cloying, by behaving as she did.

He thought that she looked forward to their time together as well, which lessened the sting of her ensuing reticence. Each time she was there waiting for him outside his office when he came home, no matter where or how long his absence had been and she was there no matter what time during the day or night he returned. It made him feel more at home in his father's former palace, seeing her waiting for him, though her face was passive as ever upon seeing him.

There was one period of a few weeks when he had gone to visit his cousin. The caravan was attacked during their return trip and their arrival was delayed several hours from what was planned due to an injury to his arm in the fight. He was dismayed to find her absent from her normal post at the door and rationalized she had gone to bed, thinking he would return at dawn the next morning. To his surprise she was waiting for him in his study when he opened the door. She was seated facing him on a divan, her face long and worried, tear stains on her cheeks. Her arms were across her chest, a handkerchief peeking out of one delicate hand.

Entering the room, he closed the door and leaned backwards onto it as it latched shut. They were alone in the room as they so often were, but the air was charged differently than it had ever been before. She stood and did not curtsy as she looked at him with a grave expression. He fixed his eyes on her ashen face though hers became trained on the cape over his sword arm.

She approached him without a word, and he stood still as she came near. He sighed at her touch when she moved the fabric aside to view the sling supporting his forearm. Her fingers were light as they ghosted over cloth of the bandage, and he felt her other hand grip around his wrist, likely involuntarily, as she took in the thin line of blood that seeped through. She looked like she wanted to say something but was fighting with herself not to. He touched her upper arm with his good hand and she met his gaze, her eyes questioning.

"I missed you," he whispered, now taking her left hand in his right. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. He saw her blink a few times, processing his words and actions. "I love you. When I looked back at you as we rode away this last time, I realized just how much I did not want to live without you anymore. Whatever this is, this existence you and I have built, is no longer enough for me," he kissed her hand again, pleading to her with his eyes of his hope that that she felt the same. "I love you."

In response, she clasped both her hands around his and she leaned forward onto him, trapping their hands between them, but careful to put none of her weight on his injury. She took a deep breath and he could hear the tremor from how she had been crying and was still near tears. She buried her face in his chest for a moment before taking a step back. She kissed the back of his hand and he felt his heart start to race.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you come back to me again," she whispered shakily. "I love spending time with you and it pains me to watch you leave and not know if you will come back."

"I would bind myself to you," he untangled their fingers to lay his palm on her cheek. "If you would have me."

"I would be honored," she smiled, holding his face in her hands as well.

They married not long after that, and throughout the time of their marriage, he laughed at the realization that she was still the elleth who brought him things. She brought him meals, as ever, though she did no longer have to, she brought him comfort when his office overwhelmed him and most of all, she brought him happiness through many hard years.

**Author's Note:**

> As a note, I am normally a Maedhros/Fingon shipper when I read about or think of either of them. If I write something about Maglor or anyone else, I'll allude to the cousinship but this is the second fiction I've written where Fingon finds a wife. In my headcanons, he is not abandoning Maedhros for a woman, but rather the cousinship never sailed.


End file.
